


The Change Has Come (She's Under My Thumb)

by ellydash



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, glee_kink_meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:23:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellydash/pseuds/ellydash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Sue Sylvester is a genius, in a way Mensa will not acknowledge (even after several threats and a late-night bomb scare).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Change Has Come (She's Under My Thumb)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of terrified and intimidated by this pairing, mostly because they could beat me up (and then take over the world). Title, of course, taken from the Rolling Stones. Prompted by a post over at glee_kink_meme.

“Sue? Are you there?”

Sue Sylvester grips the arms of her desk chair.

“NO, IRMA,” she shouts. “I’M NOT.”

“Sue. Please. I need to talk to you about a student.” 

It’s one of the things she hates most about Emma Pillsbury: that ridiculous insistence on bullshit like niceties. If there’s one thing Sue knows, it’s that being  _nice_  gets you nowhere. Being  _excellent_  is what matters. 

Clearly, excellence is not Shannon Beiste’s priority, because even though her mouth’s been working between Sue’s legs for the last seven minutes, Sue is frustratingly far from feeling anything beyond sharp annoyance. 

“Beiste,” she snaps, looking down at the football coach. “Your tongue’s got all the finesse of a two-by-four. I don’t know if you’re used to going down on undiscriminating gals, but, personally, I demand and deserve Olympic-caliber muff-diving from everyone I honor with the Sue Sylvester experience.” 

Instead of answering her back, Beiste flicks her tongue once against Sue’s clit, and the pleasant jolt of it is enough to make Sue wonder if Beiste’s idea of payback is sustained, intentionally bad head. Ineffective, but slightly imaginative. No way she’s going to stand for it. 

“Let’s make this fun,” she tells Beiste, quietly, and scoots her chair a little closer to the desk. Beiste stumbles a bit on her knees, pushed backwards and beneath, her body hidden from view. To her credit, her grip on Sue's thighs doesn't budge an inch. “And you better not stop, or I’ll slip the football coach at Carmel your playbook. Onside kicks? These kids aren’t the Saints. They’re not even the  _Rams_.”

“Didn’t know you cared enough to check out my playbook, Sue.” It feels like Beiste is smiling into her, and that’s entirely unacceptable, so Sue looks towards the office door and yells, “IDA, IF YOU’RE STILL OUT THERE, GET YOUR UNDERSIZED ASS INSIDE THIS OFFICE.” 

Beiste, startled, says something like  _hnrggh_  as protest. The accompanying vibrations aren’t completely terrible. Sue shifts in her seat, just a bit. “ _Keep going and shut up_ ,” she hisses. 

Emma opens the door, hesitantly, with the appropriate gloss of terror sheening her face. “My therapist says my weight is just fine the way it is,” she says, her voice tentative.

Inviting Emma in, Sue realizes, crossly, was a rare lapse in judgment on her part. She’s suddenly  _furious_. Not with herself - that would be unproductive - but with everything else and everyone else, especially the Kewpie doll in front of her. There are a few people she can think of who might’ve made this afternoon distraction a little more interesting by dropping in – the stupidly attractive Noah Puckerman, for one – but Emma Pillsbury sucks the sexual tension out of a room just by entering it.  _I_ _s it her eyes?_  she’d asked Will once.  _Is that why she’s less sexy than_[ _a star-nosed mole_](http://marielleleigh.files.wordpress.com/2009/11/star-nosed-mole.jpg) _? She made some deal with an anime devil to trade away sex appeal for HUGE eyes?_

Goddamn it, it’s her God-given right as a contributing member of society to have competent people getting her off. 

“What do you need?” she barks at Emma, who flinches. Sue considers other people’s flinches to be necessary punctuation. 

Emma, hands folded neatly against her skirt, steps a bit closer to Sue’s desk. She’s trying to hide her shaking, but Sue has a sharp nose for terror (and for cheap perfume, which is pretty much the same thing). “It’s about Santana Lopez. The gossip is that she had breast implants put in over the summer, and since she’s a Cheerio I thought you might know more about it – maybe give me some information that might be helpful.” 

Beiste’s tongue is flat and long and pushing, pushing. “Change it up a bit,” Sue snaps, looking at Emma, but her hand’s below the desk, and she yanks on Beiste’s offensively curly hair. 

“Change it up?” Emma looks like she’d rather be relabeling the faculty mailboxes. (Sue would bet a quarter of her Cheerios budget that Emma has a portable label maker.) “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“Try leaving the fallout management to me instead of writing a pamphlet about it, Ellen. I’ve talked at Santana, and if she’s got half the sense I think she does, she’ll be downsizing those casaba melons back into oranges before the weekend’s over.”

Emma says something about therapeutic relationships and the importance of listening blah blah blah and Jesus Ciccone  _Christ_ , Beiste’s tongue is suddenly demonstrating what Sue, trying not to squirm, refuses to call aptitude. 

“Your problem – ” Sue begins, and immediately clamps her mouth shut on what is definitely not an unplanned groan, because Beiste’s central incisors are scraping lightly against her clit. She’s been holding back on her all along, the  _bitch_ , and now she’s trying to make Sue embarrass herself in front of Emma.

Sue is going to  _kill_  Beiste for this audacity. She’s going to suit up and play nose tackle for Carmel and run down Beiste’s first and second and third string quarterbacks, one by one. She’s going to pin her down on the locker room bench after hours and straddle her and make her beg – 

Disturbingly, Emma’s looking less horrified and more concerned. “Is everything all right, Sue?”

The thing is, Sue Sylvester is a genius, in a way Mensa will not acknowledge (even after several threats and a late-night bomb scare). 

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Edna,” she says, and smiles, widely, horribly. “So I can teach my Panther here how to eat out a girl without leaving a spit-puddle that rivals what was left in Katrina’s wake. Gonna have to call in FEMA for my chair.” 

Beiste startles so quickly that she slams her head into the underside of Sue’s desk, and Sue feels a wave of satisfaction infinitely more pleasurable than anything resulting from Beiste’s administrations. 

Emma shrieks, clapping a perfectly-manicured hand to her mouth. 

“The only reason,” Sue continues, looking down, “literally, the  _only_  reason I’m wet is because your saliva control has all the finesse of a Saint Bernard.” 

“Oh, my God, you are seriously  _insane_ , lady,” Beiste hollers up at her, and Emma, now hyperventilating, turns and runs out of Sue’s office faster than Will Schuester faced with his own shortcomings. 

Sue points her rictus grin at Beiste, glowering, still between her legs. “No one,” she says, slowly, “plays Sue Sylvester and gets away with it. Especially when it comes to snatch snacking.” 

Beiste’s eyebrows knit in irritation, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “You realize that poor girl is probably on the phone to her therapist right now. You’re an awful excuse for a human being, you know that? Machiavelli could take lessons on ruthlessness from you. And – you’re a liar.” With impressive speed – and it is, Sue admits to herself later, impressive, because she’s got the best response reflexes in the quad-county area – Beiste thrusts her first and middle fingers inside Sue, and  _twists_. Sue can’t stop her gasp. 

“Yeah,” Beiste grins. “Look at you. That’s what I thought. My saliva control’s just  _fine_ , thanks.” She shoves Sue back from the desk, the chair wheels facilitating its slide, and emerges from her cramped desk cave; she adds another finger, pushes into Sue again,  _hard_ , once, twice, three times, and God, it’s exactly what Sue likes, she raises her hips a bit, she's panting, says something like  _I’m going to get you back for this you just wait you just -_

Beiste’s laugh has a note of real happiness in it, and she leans in against Sue’s throat. “Oh, honey,” she says. “You better.”


End file.
